Saving one's world, crushing the other's
by A.G.K.A
Summary: My thoughts on what would happen in season 14. Dean is free, but Lucifer and Michael are still roaming the earth. Sam finds a way to stop the evil once and for all. Dean is not happy with the plan. *maybe some destiel ahead*
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own SPN obviously.

*I'm not an English speaker, so sorry for possible flaws.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Dean stormed in the bunker; not even registering the all too familiar stairway he had practically crossed a million times since they'd moved in. They; the revelation that he might as well consider himself the lone inhabitant of Men of letters' safe house soon enough made him flinch. He shuddered the thought away. He had almost toppled headfirst to the gigantic table in the middle of the room, kicking his own ankle in the process.

"Son of a bitch". The bunker was dead silent, with no sign of someone breathing its air for anytime soon. There was some scattered thick books wide open on random pages glued at the position as if someone had spent the whole night dozing off over them, flattening the headbands irreparably. Dean chuckled to himself; good old Sammy. Then he was crashed by a long train of worries on his brother's behalf; from the fact that he might've got a cold spending the freezing night wearing only a layer of T-shirt to the strain his neck might have endured crouching on small notes gathered by himself here and there. The train sped up; how much food had he gotten just since they got dean back, not to mention the considerably tangible amount of muscles he'd lost during his big brother's disappearance.

He'd mentally cursed Cass and Mom and Jack for days; anyone who wasn't there for Sam as much of force-feeding the stubborn-ass brother of his. It was easy to read it all over his face though; the black circles, bloodshed eyes and beards and all on a face that became drastically gaunter than even his time on the big T trails. but what crushed dean's heart more forceful than any train –virtual or not- was the fact that despite all the fights and fists and curses, despite dean practically begging him not to throw away his life, he still found the curt message on his phone the next morning: "I'm sorry". He didn't get to be sorry. He was never even supposed to. Dean must have locked him up in the dungeon if that's what it took; he must have punched him once again and for all night if that would make Sam believe that nothing worth his sacrifice. People didn't. Most of them were just douchebags and bitches, half worthy of being called a human, let alone of sorts to be sacrificed for. If Michael wanted the planet roast, so be it.

 _-You don't mean that._

 _-The hell I don't ._

 _Dean felt his throat sore and blistered from all his shouts hung in the air since just after the dinner. When he found sam looming over some sort of notebook, writing in a speed as if demons were chasing him. He'd peaked over his little brother's shoulders and recognized a few words. Nests, Colt, along with some careful drawings of object dean hadn't seen in his life. Sam flinched away from dean's demanding eyes and closed the notebook._

 _-what you're doing?_

 _Sam cleared his throat. He pinched his nose for some more moments to gain enough focus to give dean the most irrelevant answer._

 _-want some beer?_

 _Dean looked at him incredulously:_

 _-Beer? Sam, you barely touched your dinner; same goes for the lunch or every goddamned meal in the whole week._

 _Sam dropped his head, his mind still fighting to remember some details for the notebook._

 _Dean could tell when his little brother wasn't even listening._

 _-Are you with me?_

 _Sam huffed:_

 _-Yeah, Dean._

 _Dean mercilessly bore his furious eyes to the shy fleeing orbs of Sam's till they couldn't resist the one-sideed stare. Sam looked into dean's eyes and forced a smile; one from many old times when he'd done something as scratching his knees or being bullied by some asshat at the school, the look that craved for comfort but trying to be as well brave for his big brother._

 _Dean gulped the growing lump on his throat and asked in a grim low voice, as if he was at the brink of cracking and a little bit of strain to his voice-box could break the freaking dam of his contradicting emotions._

 _\- is it… is it because of what happened?_

 _Sam jumped from his seat and had to grab the table to stand on his wobbly legs from which he advertently detained all the energy those long limbs needed in the past couple of weeks. He shook his head in a painstakingly slow manner and when he could as much as open his eyes without seeing black edges tiding nauseously in his sight field, he was able to detect dean's worried gaze and the arm stretching to grab him if, when he fell. He found his pole of reality as he looked in dean's guilty mouth quivering before his eyes –or maybe it was his swinging mind that distorted shapes and faces?- He managed to croak: No. and saw that dean chuckled bitterly at his attempt to act normal. There was no normal after Michael._

 _Dean cursed himself every day and night for losing the fight he couldn't possibly win. Cas said so, Mom said so. Hell, sam had an hour of his pep talks on how nothing that happened between them was dean's fault. He said that he understood why dean said yes and he said that he forgave him for the life-long scars residing on as well as inside his chest. He convinced dean that he'd asked for it, not that dean could ever believe that. He'd tortured his brother, his own blood and flesh and he could still hear Sam's cries and moans as he straddled his chest, carving his name on his little brother's chest; the one who he'd die for in a blink of an eye and he'd hurt him in more ways that he cared to remember._

 _-So what is it?_

 _Dean looked hopeless, defeated. His self-hatred so immense that he doubted for a second if he has the right to ask for Sam's well-being. But he had to; it was bore into his core. No matter what; Sam could hate him –he was damn well entitled-, he could flinch every time dean called him "Sammy" reminiscing the memories of days of being taunted and carved and god help him, raped by his brother's body, by his mouth and hands and feet; Sam has the right to kick him out if he wanted to, but there was no way in hell that dean would allow any more minute of his kid's suffering and sure as hell not going to take all that well._

 _Sam was oriented enough by the time dean was drowning in guilt and self-loathing to push the notebook towards him. He looked befuddled, partly because he expected shouting, words of despise and anything as much of a cold look but nothing came. Sam was smiling at him again with puppy dog eyes as if he was about to collapse from a high cliff, but all he cared instead was to make the jump easier for his big brother. Dean turned the pages slowly; trying to crack the code of something so important his life might actually depend on it, or him not losing his mind. The first thing that came to his mind were the words he didn't notice he uttered loudly: British men of letters._

 _It looked like one of their mighty strategies, the ones with maps for exact locations of vampires' nests or werewolves' packs; the guns and freaking magical –yet as sam regarded them: tech-wise- instruments they'd used to eradicate evil from their whole freaking continent. Dean surfed through more and more pages of good drawings and tired handwrites._

 _-so?_

 _Sam offered dean a bottle of bear he'd grabbed from another table. Warm, but it would do._

 _-So, you remember what you said months before about purging the world from evil?_

 _-yeah?_

 _Dean swallowed a large drop and felt his all too familiar lump he virtually got addicted to soothingly pushed inside his stomach._

 _-That's it. I read their blueprints, journals and all, just before you know… ._

 _Yeah, just before they had to blast the whole place down._

 _Sam opened two of his flannel's buttons as an act of cooling down his heated mind. His clock showed 9 p.m. already and he found out that sooner or later he would have to talk about his plan._

 _It took some moments of amazement from dean's side accompanied by the peaceful silence of newly emptied bunker, which was again thanks to sam who suited the exodus guys in their new houses provided with his own money. He even bought them furniture and filled them their job forms; Mom had left for a hunt and Castiel was taking care of jack somewhere in Texas. Sam was once again alone with his brother; the one who tortured him for a complete week before finally finding the strength to cast Michael out._

 _It was when dean asked the one million dollar question._

 _-why bother writing them?_

 _Sam was waiting for this moment. He avoided dean's demanding gaze by looking at his beer intensely as if it was the strangest object he'd ever seen._

 _\- why sammy?_

 _Sam couldn't help grimacing at the nickname and right after getting out of his mouth, dean was stricken by the guilt at the sight of his brother's discomfort. Sam's voice was barely louder than a whisper._

 _\- because._

 _He waited._

 _\- because I've found a way to kill them._

 _Dean already knew the voice; it was seeking for forgiveness it shouldn't have sought. The forgiveness he didn't require. Dean tried to calm himself by closing his eyes for a moment._

 _\- and how's that?_

 _Sam was now practically blabbering._

 _\- Rowena… I'll trap them._

 _Dean could hear that much and it was enough. Words automatically spilled from his mouth, though he didn't understand them. The only thing he could think of was a memory. The day when they, well when sam killed a hellhound and with that started dean's nightmares. Bloody handkerchiefs, convulsing coughs, fever, fainting, wheezing, dying._

 _\- sam, no._

 _\- dean, listen…_

 _The hell with it. They will not go down there._

 _\- I said no._

 _Sam looked at him, really looked at him. He'd mustered all the sincerity he had in himself_

 _–which was way too much- to glaze into his brother's eyes, searching for a consent he knew he would never get. There was no way in hell dean would let that happen. But from his stoic posture and rock-hard determined obligation, what comes out of his damned mouth was a pathetic plea, one that would not shake his little brother's stubbornness. He wish he could yell, threat and punch but he just couldn't; not after…_

 _-Sam…_

 _But Sam pushed further:_

 _\- you can't stop me. You won't. I'm going to do this._

 _\- why, damn you, why?_

 _Dean was now barely holding back the tears. He could not hurt sam any more than he'd done already, but that meant that he had to watch his brother sprinting towards his own doom._

 _Sam was resolute._

 _-because it is my fault and I'm going to fix it._

 _\- the hell it is._

 _Dean stood and kicked the chair beneath him. it cracked with a loud sound. Maybe now sam would accept his plea. Maybe the crack of the chair could somehow make sam hear how much dean needed him. if sam went, he would follow, period. Billie had said it long before. He can't lose him. he won't lose him, not again._

 _\- it's my fault, you hear me? I let Michael in, I made him as strong douchebag as he is now. Don't you dare think otherwise._

 _Sam was still calm. Taking in dean's anger as extra salt on his wounds all over his torso, but dean couldn't think about it now and deep down sam knew that it's nothing but pure love and fondness that could make dean as furious as he was._

 _\- you did it for me, never forget that. And Lucifer.._

 _\- you once sacrificed yourself for the world, trapping yourself with the devil himself in hell._

 _Dean was pronouncing every word with such emphasis that his jaw actually hurt._

 _-Don't you think enough's enough? Don't you think you've done well already?_

 _\- we let him out ,again._

 _Sam pointed out with shame. That was when something in dean's existence cracked, a loud_

 _and audible crack from deep in his soul, just matching the one he heard before when subjecting his anger to the chair._

 _\- YOU didn't let him out. Cas did. Crowley did. As much as I remember you were crouching at the fucking cages' bars panting, defenseless, not willing to destroy the damned world YOU yourself had saved. HOW MANY TIMES?_

 _Dean crashed his bottle to the ground. Sam took a step back and that was the act that made dean's heart ache even more. His tone softened._

 _-how many times you have to sacrifice your life for people who don't even deserve it, how_

 _many times sammy?_

 _He didn't care if another day he'd been manhandling Sam's bright sole right deep in his chest with his –he reminded himself Michael's- claws over and over again as he used his other hand brushing his brother's hair out of his face, suffocating his sobs with the flesh of his freaking hand cooing in his ears some psychotically soothing nursery rhymes, calling him sammy, while scratching the all too shiny soul, tearing it to shreds again and again and –Sam's shriek muffled by a pressure beyond human's strength that actually crushed Sam's jaw for so many times he couldn't remember, just before making him a whole new clean canvas- again. He didn't care that the sole fact that He was there in the bunker was creating night and day nightmares for Sam, the ones he couldn't wake from without making his throat sore and his muscles strained and painful from all the screaming, thrashing and whining at the mercy of a shadow of his brother, always calling him sammy when he harvested his body for new organs to pull out, then resting them back where they were. No matter what, he would always look at sam the way he looked at the chubby haired four year old "sammy" who couldn't part from him even for a mere minute._

 _Sam didn't answer._

 _\- if Lucifer's again ruling in heaven, let him do whatever he wants. Not our freaking problem._

 _Dean actually managed to smile reassuringly at sam, who stood at far end of the room looking at him intently for a weak spot. Something in dean's righteous mind that would allow his brother to virtually kill himself to destroy the evil. There was none. especially not after the things he'd done to him a mere week ago. Sam meant it when he said that he forgave dean, hell, he'd been there; he'd seen his hands killing innocent people, he'd seen them beating up dean to an inch of his life and he'd never forgiven himself for that; but he knew that dean forgave him and gave him a second chance he didn't think he deserved._

 _\- if Michael wants the planet roast, so be it. Dean once again raised his voice. His anger was toward himself. He'd done what he did to protect Sam. He could fool himself that it was jack or the world or the freaking apocalypse. But he couldn't lie to himself. On a box deep down in his soul there was a name indicating the sole motive of everything he'd ever done in his life. It was Sam's, and no one else's._

 _-you don't mean that._

 _-the hell I don't._

 _Sam started in resignation._

 _-I know how you feel, believe me, I know. I've been there. But dean, I beg you to listen. We have a shot at killing both Michael and Lucifer. I can't sleep at night knowing that I could do something and I didn't. you know how Michael's twisted mind works. He will destroy our world, just like he destroyed his own. There are kids…_

 _Dean whispered:_

 _-You are my kid._

 _Sam smiled brightly, his eyes full of fondness for his big brother. But it was sad and apologetic as well, because he could not stay a kid. He could not rely on dean to keep him safe, hell there was no such thing as safe in their world. He could not let his brother suffer for him anymore._

 _\- you can't always protect me._

 _Dean wiped his wet cheeks._

 _-watch me._

 _Dean strode the distance between them until he was only a foot away. It was too much to ask. Any physical contact would remind sam of his time as dean's-Michael's- prisoner. But it had worked, however it sound insane, however it pained dean to watch himself inflicting unimaginable pain on his kid, it was the one thing Michael was wrong about. He wasn't aware of the nights when dean stayed awake at Sam's bedside checking over him for a meager fever to wear off. He couldn't see how dean rode sam to the hospital because the stupid brat thought he could fly and broke his arm, he couldn't see his tears when he run at a doctor, startling the shit out of them, begging for sammy to be taken care of. Michael didn't know that dean sold his soul for sam and never not once regretted it and he sure didn't know that the most powerful archangel's power only could last a week of constant torture inflicted on the most important person in his vessel's life to finally break its invisible hold. That was Sam's plan and it was the only plan prone to success. Dean closed his eyes and embraced his brother, careful not to pop any stitches –physical or mental- on Sam. Sam leaned to the hold and relished the moment, almost grunting in satisfaction that at last, love had overwhelmed the twisted games the world had planned for them. When they depart, dean thought that it was over. Sam would not go on a suicide mission and they could cherish the end of the world right here, holding beers in hands and thinking about nothing but getting each other back. But as said the nagging voice of a permanent worry in his chest, it was a false hope._

 _Sam started:_

 _\- I never thought of myself to have the privilege of becoming old, you know._

 _Dean as if came out of a trance, raised his eyebrows._

 _-why the hell not?_

 _Sam bit his lower lip._

 _\- Because I knew I was cursed, in a way I knew. And that I've come this far was because of no one but you._

 _\- Stop it._

 _Not a chance._

 _\- you saved me, over and over again. I should have died in cold oak._

 _Sam didn't even see dean's fist. He reeled back, pressing his two fingers to the crack dean had added to his previous Masterpiece. Dean was too overwhelmed by emotions, by guilt and self-hatred that he couldn't see straight. He couldn't even hear himself shouting:_

 _\- Don't you dare say that. Don't you fucking dare. Stop feeling guilty about being ALIVE. I'd do it a hundred times over and I'd never regret it._

 _He was now sobbing disgracefully._

 _\- Dean…_

 _Dean didn't stop yelling at the kid, who watched him in horror and awe but could not bring himself to as much as retaliating._

 _\- I don't care if the whole world burns. I don't give a damn about heaven and hell; you may think that you're saving the world we know; but you are crushing mine to ashes. Sammy…_

 _He gingerly wiped the forbidden tears off his red-tainted face. He will talk sam out of this –he told himself- his pride be damned. Hell, he would gladly take responsibility of the apocalypse if that meant sam was safe, even for the shortest of times._

 _\- I'll do it. Whatever shitjob is needed for saving the freaking world, whatever godforsaken ritual it requires, tell Rowena to use me._

 _Sam's face dropped. He didn't met dean's gaze for a long time, which made dean actually hope for a way to trade himself instead. Finally, sam spoke._

 _\- Dean. You can't do it. It needs demon blood and all._

 _He swung his shaking hand in the air. God, he was practically shuddering from hypoglycemia._

 _\- alright. I get your point dean. Never mind it. I guess we should find out some other ways?_

 _Dean's suspicion was screaming at him, but he sheepishly subdued the bad feeling with a stupid question he knew would do nothing for his worries._

 _\- So, no throwing your life away for the greater good?_

 _He forced a smile to be rewarded by something more than a "maybe" or "we'll figure it out" as sam used to apply. Sam nodded with what dean registered as a slightest shine of honesty. That was enough for him. Sam would not do that to him, he wouldn't ruin his brother's world; he wouldn't sacrifice his life in compensation of his brother's mistakes, mistakes of which he himself had suffered most of all._

 **TBC?**


	2. Chapter 2

Next morning, after quite a lot effort Dean found his phone in Sam's room, on the cold neatly made-up bed sheet; along with a tiny box, carefully packed with what seemed like a hemp thread. Dean already had his nightmarish doubts and therefore he dared not to look into it without stretching dangerously to his breaking point, He was afraid that cracking the wall of composure and "do your job" thing would cripple him to handle the problem in hand, which was finding his brother and taking him back home, hell even imprisoning him in their dungeon. The wall was the sole surface on which Dean could not see the reflection of Sam, lying unconscious, Dead. Instead, He merely grabbed his phone and almost immediately noticed the message on the lock-screen. A simple, nonchalant apology, as if it didn't precisely summarized the depth of shit they were in. There was more, pretty much everything that could stop Dean's heart for a moment and thereafter, How could he command his organ to focus on its freaking job, to not panic or thrash violently in his chest; calling for his baby brother, who was most probably not even alive at the moment. He had 54 missed calls from Rowena, starting at 3 am and ending just an hour ago.

Dean didn't hesitate for a mere second to reach out for Castiel. It wasn't good at all and more than any time his life he could feel the need for having a powerful entity by his side. Even if he's already late, Cass could bring Sam back. He'd offer the full capacity of his soul as a power source if it was what it took to revive Sam; No, He's not dead. You don't know anything just now. You'd stick to the rescue mission and nothing else mattered. Dean tried to calm himself. Unluckily enough, Cass was MIA, again. So next on the list, he called Rowena. She picked up immediately, but didn't answer.

-Rowena, tell me where he is.

He couldn't help wavering of his words in the cool air of the bunker, which sure as hell was not due to the breeze. Rowena stayed silent for a minute or two, before giving him the address. Dean's gut twisted at the anguished voice of the witch pleading: Hurry.

He didn't remember much of the way to the rusty store. In days that followed, he couldn't remember himself sprinting out of the impala, not even noticing that he had left the doors open. He just remembered the heavy door of the garage screeching as he pulled the lever near it, he remembered the light shining through on strips, scattering the dust pecks all over dean's face, he remembered hearing a violent cough, he saw shiny streaks of purple glaze hung in the air and he remember his world ending as he spotted a figure at the middle of the room, slumped on a wooden pole, as if it was a cross, his hands were stretched sideways, his knees folded on the rough ground and God, he was completely limp in his bonds, his head was swayed forward, revealing only the stack of hair wet from sweat –and was it blood encrusting all over his little brother's body?-. Was he even breathing?

Nonononono-

Dean rushed forward and kneeled in front of Sam, he dared to cup the kid's cheeks and feeling for one of his carotids in the process. God please, Dean couldn't hold back the tears and so his clouded vision didn't allow him to note the tiny fluttering of Sam's eyes, as if he was in deep sleep and God, at that moment Dean found a pulse, weak, barely there. But it was a damn big relief and Dean buried Sam's head in his own chest, holding on to his little brother's messy –as ever- hair with one hand the back of his blue flannel with the other, as he was relishing the moment of utter comfort that he wasn't late. It took him a moment to realize that Sam was still in shackles and from the position he could guess that he was hurting as hell; scrunched eyebrows were just another proof of that.

\- Okay, okay, you're a selfish stupid son of a bitch, you know that? Ha?

Dean tried to coax him to answer, but aside from the pulse Sam was dead to the world. Dean was just blabbering funny comments to calm himself.

\- all right, I'm gonna undo these, and I'm gonna take you to a hospital, okay?

Apparently Sam was indifferent to whatever dean was mouthing. However, he stood up to work on the shackles and cursed under his breath, they were bound by a spell.

-Rowena

He yelled and turned his attention to Sam, who moaned softly.

\- I got you, I got you. I'm letting you loose. Just hang on.

Dean patted Sam's shoulder with shaky fingers, drawing what should be small circles of comfort and assurance that he was there for him, like he always is. That was when Rowena came into view; She must have hidden in the shadows at the back of the store, waiting to be called and from the look of it, she was not doing very well. Her hair was sprawled loosely around her shoulders and she was wearing a simple T-shirt and pants, not like ever with fancy gowns and skirts. Bloodshot eyes, trailed mascara on her cheeks and a grim look was

all Dean needed to lose the last brick of the wall, and with that, it all crumbled on him.

-W..what's going on?

She then spoke with a tone that wasn't even hers, It was grim and grieving and barely audible.

\- You're late.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

The involuntary answer which was second nature to dean was to protest giving up on Sam with every fiber he had.

\- No.

Rowena's look was on the ground.

\- I called you for God knows how many times, where on the bloody earth were you?

Dean dismissed the question. He was not going to tell her that he was soundly asleep while his brother was being crucified.

\- What do you mean late? Release him from the shackles, now.

\- I'm afraid I can't.

If there was any time else, dean would shot the witch in between the eyes, but not now, not with Sam's life on the line. And of course, if there was any time else, Rowena would be taunting and bargaining for a deadly object she wanted to have in possession just for the kicks; it was definitely none of those times, Rowena sounded deeply upset, she was just stating the truth. No! it wasn't the truth, It couldn't be. Sam was going to make it, he was, his heart was still beating and he was able to as much as moan, which meant that he also could breathe. She was lying, it was never too late, not for the Winchesters. Dean shook his head violently in denial.

\- It's not late. I say it's not. Now CUT HIM LOOSE OR SO HELP ME.

Sam chose the exact moment to start to stir. Dean rushed towards him, scratching his kneecaps on the stones.

\- hey hey hey, I've got you, just hold on for me.

It wasn't a stir, it wasn't Sam's attempt to regain consciousness. Dean realized that when he felt his hands damp at each side of Sam's head. Nonono, shit, dean receded his hands and looked at the slick dark red liquid trickling form it freely. Son of a bitch. Sam's nose also was already bleeding and he seemed to be choked in his own blood filling his throat. Dean

screamed at Rowena.

\- What's this?… Tell me!

Rowena started to explain:

\- This specific spell allows two powerful entity to inhabit at the same place; it would keep them distracted [now Sam was shivering violently, the white of his eyes were visible from between half-closed eyelids, Dean gripped his collar] from each other's presence and the fact that they are bound to a single human vessel. I… I even created a scenery just like this one to fool them further…

Dean caressed Sam's head nervously, keeping it close to his chest and welcoming the pouring blood which stained dean's jacket readily.

\- But?

Rowena's voice was timid, and scared.

\- They found out… and now… they… they're torturing him.

It was as if someone had poured a bucket of freezing water on Dean. Rowena could as well stab him right in the chest and it wouldn't hurt that much than knowing that after all Sam's been through, after ALL THAT DEAN HAD IMPOSED ON HIS BABY BROTHER, it all came down to this, again. To dick angels torturing him, to Lucifer tormenting his kid. Sam was whimpering under his breath as dean rocked him against his own chest, talking soothing words in his bloodied ears, reassuring him that he would never leave his side.

It felt like forever but it lasted only 10 minutes until Sam went lax in dean's arms. His convulsions stopped and the bleeding which dean had tried in a futile attempt to cauterize with the warmness of his touch halted all of a sudden. He couldn't think about priorities here. About that he should have forced Rowena to somehow stop all this, but judging from the agonized look in her face, there was not a single thing that she could and wouldn't do to help. Dean was never really team Rowena, but Sam somehow trusted her along the way and damn Dean if he wanted to criticize his brother for where his faith lied; not after Jack. Not after mom.

When Dean could finally let go of Sam's flannel and wipe his tears with his forearm –which mudded his face in Sam's blood, he turned to Rowena:

\- I'm so gonna kill you.

He bumped towards her but Rowena held up a hand and as she was virtually crying –who thought that she actually had a heart- stopped dean in his pace. She tried to defend herself.

\- There's the man, whom you know would be the one to kill you. He asks for assistance,

otherwise he'd kill you just like the prophecy says. What would YOU do?

Dean grimaced at her. Has she lost her mind?

\- He wouldn't kill you. You well know that.

\- He came at me with a revolver full of witch killing bullets, should I have tested my theory?

It was sarcastic, but she continued to sob. Dean frowned at the fact. When has she became as such fond of Sam? She was a witch, for all Dean knew she should have been celebrating her killer's demise, preferably as brutal as it was. What was wrong with her?

\- Why're you crying?

She didn't answer. Sam's eyes opened in a sliver and he coughed feebly. Dean, startled at the sound was at his side in a blink of an eye.

\- Sammy?

\- Dea…

It was hard to hear him. Dean once again took Sam's head in his hands and lowered down and crouched till he was face to face with him.

\- Hey, hey… look at me.

Sam's eyes were glassy and unfocused. Blood specks were still dripping from his chin, he might as well have bitten his tongue in his episode of seizure.

\- 'm sry.

\- No no no [Dean's voice was suddenly too loud for Sam's light head, so he flinched] Don't you dare, you've got nothing to apologize for, you hear me? Not one.

Sam smiled timidly at that, then he once again started to drift off. It was when it all dawned to him.

\- you're seeing what they're doing, right? That's why you're scared, that's why you cry.

Rowena nodded as another tear found its way all the way down her cheek. Dean's voice was trembling.

\- H..How bad?

She hesitated as if recalling something, something so important that abruptly made her face a lot brighter than it was. Dean took the glimpse and almost let himself hope that Rowena had found a way to reverse it all, a spell that would save his little brother any more hurt and damage. He parted his lips and held his breath for a slightest of clues, his heart beating in his chest wildly, clawing at his throat, making every breath he wasn't taking like swallowing lava. Then Rowena's face became gruff one more time, strangling the last bit of hope Dean had in him.

\- You're… you were Michael's vessel. We discussed it in length that Sam didn't want you

involved with this [Dean chuckled bitterly and glanced at his brother's limp from hung from the chains] which meant we should have waited for the spell to finish its course, which meant hours of suffering in hands of the most powerful archangels, but…

Rowena already took a step back, evidently frightened of Dean's reaction.

\- You're the only person in this bloody world who can kill them right away.

Dean interjected:

\- Awesome, but how?

Rowena's eyes were on the floor when she brought herself up to answer.

\- You have to kill him.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean stared. For a long time he just stared, deprived of all senses. He tried not to do the math, though there was a simple formula deep down in his mind, blurred for the moment, ready to come into light. He could end Sam's agony; but that meant killing his baby brother. The solution again fled from his clutches, Dean practically pushed it back, because Rowena had to have meant something else, She should have meant that "killing" was some figurative act, a meaningless symbol. She couldn't have meant Dean actually pushing a blade in his own brother's chest as an act of mercy. He would rather instead stab himself, He would stab himself if he as much as touch a hair on Sam again. How could he live with that if he was the one who was meant to end the life of Sam Winchester, among all the monsters and grotesque entities, Dean was worst of them all. He tortured the kid with the most brutal techniques the douchebag archangel could come up with and now the witch was suggesting him to complete the circle? How dare she? he vehemently shook his head:

\- No way.

Rowena expected the answer, because it didn't even get out of Dean's mouth that she started sobbing again, occasionally closing her eyes in an attempt to block the visions. Dean glanced at Sam, he wasn't hurting as bad as he was earlier, but still shivers racked his bodies in an irregular pattern and his nose was bleeding. Dean brought out a piece of cloth from his pocket and started wiping the blood off Sam's face. The kid flinched from the touch but

Dean started:

\- you've got it all over your face, bitch. Lemme take a look… it's okay… I'm not gonna hurt you, ever…

Dean bore his eyes in Rowena's at that. He would find another way to save his brother, there had to be a way, rather than putting him out of his misery; seriously, how sick was that. He prayed: Cass, where the hell are you… come on man, hear me.

Dean continued to wipe the blood off Sam's face as if it would miraculously take away the pain Sam was in as well. He waited for the nosebleed to streak, but it was running freely and Dean cursed everything in the creation for that. Why wouldn't they just leave his baby brother alone for a mere minute. He was suffering constantly; his eyes were closed but Dean could track the discomfort in every line of Sam's face. Occasionally a whimper found its way out of his clenched jaws and dean would have to take a exaggeratingly deep breath to keep himself from openly weeping. It was minutes of his own barely suppressed sobs and Sam bleeding, shaking, groaning before his very eyes that he heard a flap of wings. Not feeling lucky enough to thank God for the help, he turned his back on Sam and faced the newcomer. There he was, in his all too familiar trench coat and a look of pure sorrow towards them: Castiel.

\- Hello dean.

Dean grimaced at the repetitive notion. Then his face which pretty much got used to being in pain in the few weeks, twisted into a hopeless appeal for help, for anything that the angel could offer. Castiel hurried towards them and touched Dean's shoulder gently, then went past his friend's frame to the person in chains in the dim shadows of the store. Castiel kneeled down and gripped Sam's face with one hand, as he patiently closed his eyes and waited. Almost nine heartbeats later (Dean could count each one pretty well) the angel's forehead was littered with small beads of sweat and he looked at Dean in horror and hopelessness. Dean's heart froze at the horrible sight of Cass. His knees almost buckled from beneath him and he disgracefully landed on the ground leaning at the same wall Sam's left hand was pointing limply. He got severed from everything, from present and past and his world became as small as the momentarily relaxed fist above his head. Dean was past caring as his blood crusted forearm once again came to his eyes to squeeze the freely running drops to a halt. Cass started:

\- How?

Dean understood the angel's question. He knew that Dean would never voluntarily let Sam do this to himself. it was an innocent question which meant a specter of blameful statements: Where were he? How could he let that happen? Why didn't he stopped Sam even if that meant knocking him out and trap him in their dungeon. Dean roared:

\- Do something.

It was an order, at first. But as Dean's bloodshot green eyes pleaded the blue ones with utter desperation, his tone also adjusted:

\- please.

Castiel habitually switched into his straight-forward-angel-not-understanding-human-feelings mode, starting to explain:

\- Archangels' powers are far beyond mine.

Then there was Dean's closest, dearest friend, company in the worst of times, in fire and blood, hell and heaven and hell, even the freaking purgatory, with honest familiar eyes, grief-stricken and broken that finally sedated his furiously beating heart. If Cass was looking at him like that, if the angel whom with he trusted his and his brother's life countless times, the one who never stopped helping the simple man he raised from hell, was prying a doorway to the human's soul by means of his eyes, just to say how much he was sorry for his loss, Dean should know that it was the end of the line. And this time he let his tears fall their full ride.

\- I'm sorry.

Cass dared to advance, inch by inch to the broken man he loved more than any human being in his father's whole creation. Dean was just staring at him with glassy eyes, flinching at the sight of his brother's hand –which was now clenching into a fist, writhing from itself, God, he was piercing his palm's skin with his own nails out of anguish- all along the way to the angel. Rowena cried:

\- You can do something. You can save his soul, Dean. I know you love your brother, there's still time to salvage his soul and you're losing it any minute.

Cass crouched down in front of Dean, completely ignoring the presence of the witch. Dean's eyes were wandering in the room, from Sam starting to convulse again, to Rowena crying, waiting for her words to sink in, back to Castiel, who gripped Dean's collar tightly in an attempt to snap him out of his trance, as well as to offer as much comfort as he could. Then again to Sam. Dean pushed the angel back and crawled back to his brother, whose face was again completely littered with blood. He was already becoming as cold as an ice cube, his lips were slightly tainted blue and if it wasn't for the warm blood dripping from nose and ears down his chin, it was hard to tell that he was even alive. Dean cupped Sam's cheek, hating the slick texture of his brother's life that was running out before his damned very eyes. Dean slapped him, at first gently and then forceful with rage:

\- Stupid, Stupid…STUPID!

Dean thrust his head into the kid's shoulder, muffling his wail and the sound of his teeth that was grinding with much force it could practically shatter them, then he looked at Sam again; eyes closed tightly as if to barricade the torture. Dean whispered:

\- you told me you wouldn't do it, you bastard.

Another slap to Sam's unresponsive face. Cass advanced, intending to leash the human's affectionate anger, fearing that it might hurt the younger Winchester even further. But then Dean started to repeat "I'm sorry" as a mantra in Sam's unhearing ears and Cass stopped in his tracks.

\- But I'm so gonna kick your ass. You know? When we get out of here.

Dean frowned:

\- Dean?

Dean looked at him intently and the only thing Cass could see was pain; sheer profound agony as if he was a wounded animal looking at his predator. Cass shook his head sorrowfully and descended the Michael's blade which he held in possession after expelling the archangel from Dean's vessel. Dean took it, his hands shaking so intensely that he had to cling to it with both hands to prevent it from falling.

\- will you wake him up?

Cass shook his head adamantly and kneeled before him. He thrust two fingers on Sam's cold forehead and a streak of grace found its way to Sam's eyes.

\- Sammy?

Cass stood and took a step back. He watched and he felt that if his heart was actually capable of anything as beating in his chest, the sight would virtually tear it in half.

Sam pinched his eyes and looked up at Dean, whose face was bloody and tears were shamelessly finding their way to his stubbly chin. He uttered weakly:

\- Dean.

\- Yeah kiddo, it's me. I'm here, big brother's here.

Sam apparently couldn't remember the last time he was lucid, as he repeated:

\- I'm sorry.

Dean chuckled:

\- No, Sammy. You've done nothing to be sorry about, except for being a stupid brat.

He brushed his little brother's cheeks with calloused thumbs and Sam relished to the gentle touch. He shivered in a transient motion and moaned softly as his eyelids started to close again.

\- No no no Sam, look at me. Don't close your eyes. You're hurt? Are you hurt?

Dean pulled Sam's head close to his chest and waited for the kid's answer. But he was only rewarded by curt cries and groans slipping out of Sam's slightly gaped mouth.

\- How much time?

Dean's voice was trembling:

\- Not much, baby boy. Not much.

Dean slowly rose the blade from his own laps to trace lightly on the blood-stained flannel of Sam. Sam was too out of it to notice the gesture.

\- Look at me.

Dean ordered, like a million times before when Sam needed stitches or was burning with fever and Dean asked him to look into his big brother's eyes to believe that everything's going to be okay. Except that there was no "okay" now. No reassurance, no soothing words that when Sam opens his eyes next time in the morning, he would be well tended wrapped in a blanket in a hotel room, safe; as his big brother had been watching over him all night long. It was the end, of everything; and there were no mornings of waking up from this nightmare.

But Sam complied and looked into Dean's eyes intently. Then as if he recalled something he coughed feebly with wide eyes searching Dean's 100 percent attention:

\- Promise me.

Dean pursed his lips and frowned, already knowing the answer:

\- Promise what?

Sam had a few attempts to let out whatever he was trying to say in between fits of coughs, he had to stifle the burning sensation in his chest as his lungs collapsed. He had to wait for the surges of pain racking his body every time he was being inflicted by the archangels torture, whipping, his time –Dean guessed as he noticed the kid's back arching every time his body was being violated- and trying to keep his eyes into focus as he spontaneously looked distant and catatonic –and Dean only could guess the worst things with a loud grunt every time Sam moaned and cried for them to stop-.

\- Don… Don't follow…

Dean looked at him incredulously. After everything, that was Sam wanted him to do? That was what his little brother thought Dean deserved?

\- I won't promise that.

Now the blade was level with Sam's chest.

\- Dean…

Dean answered in a harsh tone:

\- Don't you dare ask me that. How do you think I'm gonna live without you? Finding another brother, hitting down the road, pretending that none of this happened? I still can't forgive myself…

\- Stop.

That was the loudest of voice Sam could muster.

\- Please… just… just proms me…

Sam's eyes were begging him, looking for the slightest of signs of a resignation. Dean whispered:

\- What am I supposed to do?

Sam spat the blood that was flooding his mouth and pinched his eyes out of pain. Rowena stepped closer to remind Dean that the sooner he does the inevitable, the much the chances are that Sam's soul would be able to heal. Dean held his left hand up, as his other was gripping the back of Sam's shirt, keeping his swaying head up.

\- Raise Jack… help Cass (Castiel felt a single tear streaming down his face, and it was only the

first drop)… quit… I dunno…

He slurred and Dean pushed him up by force. Sam was practically dead weight in his bonds as well as the supporting arms Dean had spread. Sam tried once again:

\- Promise?

And suddenly it was 8 year old Sammy asking Dean to stay by his side when he caught pneumonia and he couldn't as much as lift a finger in his feverish stupor, but he could always make sure that Dean would stay 24/7 at his bedside till he gets better. There was the same puppy dog eyes that were always Dean's sole weakness. He could pretend that he was strong, that he wasn't afraid of a damn thing; but this particular move from this particular person always got him and quivered all his will. He looked at the man in his late thirties who looked so young and so innocent and his heart physically ached "Oh, God". He again buried his face in the younger man's shoulder, relishing the last bit of smell, touch, warmness that would soon be gone forever.

\- Promise.

With that Dean thrust the blade in his little brother's chest. Predicted from the two most powerful angels in the universe the room was lit and the windows shattered one by one with ultrasound booms; but dean's attention was solely on his brother's body that arched and pulsated beneath the blade. Dean pulled the blade out with a scream and threw it away. There was light, so much light that resonated through Sam's body as he bled profusely from the fatal wound right under his sternum. Blood was everywhere, on Sam's lips, on his gaping hole right at the middle of his chest and all over Dean's as he embraced the writhing form tightly and closed his eyes; He blocked everything that wasn't Sam, not registering Cass' shouts and Rowena's shriek as the whole building started to shook violently. The only thing that mattered was the limp kid still unfairly nailed to the pole and the blinding light that was swallowing his brother from the inside out. Dean clung to him tighter, resting the kid's head on his chest as blood continued to pour out and make a large pool at Dean's knees. He groaned, cursed, screamed, cried, begged and closed his eyes for everything to end; for his world to end. Then there was the final impulse raking through Sam's whole body, the last glimmer of light, the last bit of grace destroyed to nothing. and then, Silence.


End file.
